


Dappled Skies and Violet Eyes

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Forest Spirit Keith, M/M, Minor Hunk/Pidge | Katie Holt, Plant Witch Shiro, SHEITH - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25399510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: Local Plant Witch Shiro finds out the woods are exactly as filled with spirits as he's been warned, but maybe that's not such a bad thing.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zombietime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombietime/gifts).



> This is a prequel to a prompt from Elliott found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733808/chapters/55387204  
> Because it wouldn't get out of my head.

The unusually stifling air and creaking branches overhead probably should have been Shiro's first warning that maybe the villagers had been right about something living in these woods. At the time Shiro had offered them an indulgent smile and thanked them for their concern, the kind of response he might have given to his overly concerned grandmother had she still been here to see him traipsing about in the wilderness. Not that he thinks they're right... they just might not have been entirely incorrect.

Especially since he swears there's been something watching him for some time now, slipping through the leaves and the undergrowth, swift and silent as a shadow when he passes through. Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to have any ill intent – at least none that it's decided to act on, and Shiro's given it plenty of opportunity.

He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of moss and the budding flowers twining up the trunks of the old oak next to him. There's a brook around here somewhere, close enough that he can hear it babbling away, a merry accompaniment to the squirrels that dash to and fro across the path around him. A month of daily treks into this part of the woods and they've begun to pay him less and less respect, scurrying up to his muddy boots whenever Shiro settles himself against a tree for his lunch, knowing full well they'll earn themselves a flicked treat for their troubles.

A particularly bold squirrel chatters at him from a low branch as he approaches, bright red tail fluffed and twitching as it reaches tiny hands down at him.

“Well hello, little Red,” Shiro calls up to him, stopping to dig in his pouches for the extra seeds he'd collected just in case. “You're as cute as ever today, I see.”

He lifts his gloved hand high, cupped to keep the seeds in as his tiny friend chitters and squeaks above him, nimble hands shoving seeds into its mouth until the sounds are muffled through bulging cheeks.

“I hope you're going to share those,” Shiro laughs up at him, withdrawing his hand to wipe on his trousers as he continues his stroll through the trees. “The others will get jealous.”

Red pays him no mind, hopping through the branches back to the nest without a backwards glance.

“Goodbye to you too!” Shiro calls out, grinning as he shakes his head. The squirrels have about as many manners as the townspeople, but at least they don't stare.

Huffing another laugh, he follows his ears down to the creek where the oft-trodden grass becomes almost too slick to pick his way through. It wouldn't be the first time if he missed a step and slid into the shallow water, but he's not exactly keen on spending the rest of the day in wet clothes, even if it has been an unusually hot summer.

Still, the sparkling water is tempting enough to have him creeping down to the edge and shucking his boots, trousers rolled up as he dips sweaty feet in with a sigh of relief. It's the perfect respite after trekking this far in, and about time for him to break for his midday meal after walking since sunrise.

Goodness knows Colleen will pick at him like a mother hen if he returns to the village hungry.

The wrapped figs in his rucksack are sweet as can be, perfect for sharing a bite with the rolls Hunk had sent him off with two nights ago in exchange for a simple cold remedy. Shiro had nearly felt bad at the time, it hadn't taken him more than some dandelions, a little lemongrass, and a whisper of magic - certainly not enough to fill his pantry with baked goods... but Hunk had insisted. Between him and the Holts Shiro could probably afford to quit this whole herbalist thing and live a life stuffed full of good food like a favored house pet.

But that would be an awfully boring fate.

He would certainly miss afternoons like this, sprawled out on the banks watching the little water sprites tiptoe across the surface, ducking under the lily pads to peek out at him. They slip away with tinkling giggles and a tiny sploosh when he wiggles his fingers at them, still shy of newcomers to their woods – and likely with good reason. From what Shiro has gathered from the locals, these woods have a bit of a reputation... shepherds whose flocks spook at a chill wind, trappers who come back with broken snares and ashen faces, and the loggers... well.

The last loggers who traipsed off into the woods were found dazed and jibbering weeks later, gaunt and out of their minds with terror as they spoke of forest spirits with gnashing teeth and piercing claws that snapped their saws like twigs.

Personally, Shiro can't bring himself to feel much pity for them. It's one thing to take down a few trees here and there to build a few modest cottages... it's another entirely to seek out the spoils of the deep woods in the name of profit. He's surprised they got off as easily as they did.

Shiro's no fool, he knows there are things in these woods that make him look like a parlor magician, ancient things that have watched over the forest since its inception. He's fairly certain something along those lines has been keeping tabs on him for weeks now... but he's also not doing anything to draw their ire.

Enjoying the sun dappled banks doesn't seem to harm anyone; he hunts no fawns and traps no rabbits, takes only the plants that he needs without stripping the patch... even the squirrels would probably vouch for him, if they could do anything but chitter and chirrup.

It's a pleasant thought for a pleasant day, that he may even be welcome in these woods, the little green witch that he is. Judging by the ever present feeling of eyes on his back, he'll likely be the first to know if he wears it out.

The creaking above him draws closer, prompting him to crack an eye up at the canopy overhead – just in time to catch a flash of green and black whisk itself away into nothingness. Too large for a sprite... too fast for a satyr... perhaps a nymph?

“Well alright then...” he mutters to himself, hauling upright and pulling on his shoes. He's probably stayed too long on the brook's edge anyway, the sun is still high from what he can see of it, but the shadows are beginning to creep on the other side of the trees and it's a long walk home.

Fortunately his prize isn't much further, in a glade just beyond the crest of the next hill and past the willow that hangs like a crone watching over her domain. The tree gives Shiro a shiver every time he goes near, though he still stops each time and lays a palm against her bark, dutifully offering up a bit of his magic in hopes of safe passage.

Matt says he's silly of course, talking to trees and feeding them morsels of his magic... but he's never been one for nature beyond his mother's herb garden. Shiro would like to think that giving back what he can in return for his harvest has kept him unmolested thus far... that and his lack of industrial tools.

The weird magical wooden arm probably doesn't hurt either. At the very least it makes him some interesting friends – the brave pixies in his garden finally warming up to him enough to come poking and prodding at it when he offers them droplets of Hunk's sweet tea. He's even gotten the thing to start blooming, little flowering buds that twine around with mossy veins from his shoulder down to the fingertips – a neat little party trick if he does say so himself. It's certainly better than the alternative, trying to work a mortar and pestle one-handed.

Shiro counts himself lucky every day that the thing even works – he'd been skeptical when Pidge first brought him the chunk of enchanted wood, beautifully carved but definitely lifeless. But she'd been insistent that if he had as much magic in him as she thought he did then the wood itself would take care of the rest. Needless to say he's learned to just go along with her since then.

Regardless of why, he's grateful to the forest's inhabitants for giving him such hospitality thus far, especially in times like these when he's allowed to roam into depths most of the village can hardly speak of without crossing themselves.

The lichen he needs today runs rampant in the shady depths on the other side of this glade, its abundance so great that Shiro doesn't hesitate to scrape three whole vials full from the edge of a rock, whispering his thanks as he goes. The leaves around him rustle with birdsong, a dancing little tune that draws him in, smiling as he tilts up to catch the whistler.

“Hello there little one,” he calls upward, wiggling his fingers before pursing his lips and whistling back.

The bird lets out a trill, then a cascade of notes as it flits lower into his view, wings a flash of vibrant blues and purples. It settles onto a nearby branch, head cocked as it spills another tune.

“Oh you are a pretty one.”

Shiro steps toward the bird, song on his lips and arm outstretched – but it flits away to another branch just down the path, then turns again to whistle its tune.

Compelled, Shiro follows step by step, smiling up at the little thing as it hops and twitters from branch to branch, almost as if it were leading him somewhere. Glancing at the sky through the canopy, Shiro figures he has the time to indulge in a little silliness and trots ever onward, laughing and whistling as the trunks around him grow thicker, the canopy blocking more and more of the sky until the forest around him is hazy and penumbral.

Then the birdsong cuts off-

Shiro blinks, shaking his head and peering around through the gloom, uncertain of where exactly he's managed to wander in his moment of folly.

“Little friend?”

His voice echoes back to him, but barely, almost mocking.

“Oooh dear.”

He sucks in his bottom lip, gnawing as he spins a circle, trying to figure out what side of the river he's on – or if he's even near enough for it to matter. A quick glance shows moss ringing whole trunks, useless for directional purposes. It's not yet nightfall thankfully, but even if it was he doubts he could see enough of the stars to navigate with the thick coverage. Just a little ways down the path he can see a suspiciously circular patch of mushrooms and starts to sweat. His own tracks are quickly fading in the spongy ground, no more than twenty paces behind him still visible... but it's a start, and one he takes quickly, putting space between him and the ring.

It's no use to curse himself for his earlier brash confidence in the woods – it won't help now and even if the spirits don't mind him it's not going to stop a wolf from having a decent snack if he dallies.

Not that he dallies. He's not exactly jogging through the woods, he's too wary of hidden roots and broken ankles to do that, but he's certainly not taking his time either. The way is as marked as he could hope for, a winding strip between the trees that he doesn't exactly remember taking.

Unease growing, he stumbles into a forked split, trees and vague path identical on either side. He can't even be certain he passed this on the way here, though it wouldn't have been more than a footpath in his peripheral if he had. The left path shows no signs of his earlier passage... but neither does the right. Faint birdsong echoes in the woods, but from where he can't tell – and he's unsure of trusting it even if he could. He strains his ears for the sound of the brook... but nothing.

Nothing but his own breaths and the ambient noise around him, the skittering in the undergrowth, the snap of twigs and rustling of bushes that normally sets him at ease.

Now each one brings a prickle of anxiety, a cold trickle down his spine as he steps forward to rest his palm against the oak in the middle of the fork.

He closes his eyes, tipping until his forehead meets the bark.

“Please... I'm lost.” He doesn't dare to do more than whisper, freshly aware of the things bigger than his friendly squirrels. He pushes a bit of magic into the tree, hoping to feel an awareness push back – a sprite, a fairy... anything at this point will do. “I just want to go back to my village... I'm only making things to help people.”

The tree remains silent, save for the rustling of its leave above him. Shiro can feel his jaw trembling, shoulders going tight as he tips his head back, eyes pinched. “Please.”

There's a tapping above him, to pronounced to be incidental, and he snaps his eyes open.

A pair stare back at him, luminous and violet, limned in green and black.

They're gone in a flash – before Shiro can even think to call out in surprise or fear. Gone, and with them any hope of aid.

Shiro sucks in a shuddering breath, holding for a moment before letting it out in a gust as he begins to take stock. He's got another half loaf of bread in a pouch, and a handful of leftover seeds. His water flask is mostly empty but the creek will do... if he can find it. He has no weapon save for the runed pruning knife at his hip – meant for scraping and carving and no longer than his hand, but better than nothing. He lets out another long sigh and tightens the belt at his waist, then makes to start down the right hand path.

Tapping stops him less than two footfalls in.

He freezes, turning to look over his shoulder.

Two eyes peer out of the gloom of the left hand path, cocked slightly, like their owner is tilting its head at him. They blink.

“H-hello?”

The eyes narrow, glancing down their path before flickering out of existence.

Shiro can hardly hear anything in the woods over the pounding in his ears. He knows he asked for help – but he certainly hadn't expected a spirit of that size to find him. Years of old stories come rushing back, fables of the things that lurk in the woods and lure men to their deaths – spirits that drown men in creeks and drag interlopers into mossy tombs.

He takes a hesitant step back into the forked path, glancing down the way he had intended to go. It looks no different than the alternative, just an endless stretch of forest leading into the dim unknown.

Another shuffled step, and the tapping draws Shiro's eyes once more – this time a few trees further down the path, and if he didn't know any better he'd say they were beginning to look terribly annoyed with him.

His pace picks up, a handful of steps more down the left fork, and the eyes vanish only to reappear down the winding trail.

So it goes, with Shiro staggering through the unknown woods, following the eyes that have pricked the back of his neck for weeks. They lead him through forking paths and around fallen trees he certainly doesn't recall, tapping impatiently each time his steps falter... until they disappear entirely, leaving Shiro to stumble forward with a nervous cry-

Into a blessedly familiar clearing.

His lichen covered rock has never looked so comfortable, and Shiro staggers over to it in relief, feeling as if he had aged enough to add even more grey hair to the little patch on his crown. He lets himself sit there for a moment, finishing off the last of the water in his flask now that he knows more is close. From the corner of his eye he can see one of the more curious denizens of the glade – a fairy peeking out from under a bush of moonberries. He offers a wiggle of his wooden fingers, letting the magic surge through until the tips bloom with tiny pink flowers.

“Hello there,” he whispers, comforted by the knowledge that he's likely as safe as he can get if the fairies are out and about. “I sure am happy to see you.”

The little thing edges forward, eyes huge and sparkling, silent as a shadow.

“Go ahead and take one, if you want.”

He doesn't know if it can understand him, but he's certainly not going to move an inch as it creeps closer with a trembling hand outstretched. Shiro wants to huff a laugh at the brave little thing, aware that they both know he could probably grab it – and doubly aware that others before have likely done exactly that. Still, he's grateful to the residents of this forest today, and holds steady as stone as tiny fingers pluck a flower and whisk away like they were never there.

Then Shiro does laugh, down one flower and richer for it as he hauls himself to his feet and turns to make his way across the clearing-

Only to be stopped dead by the hulking shadow lurking in the treeline.

Violet eyes burn into him, hazy green and black elongated into razor points that blend into the gloom and send Shiro stumbling backward.

“I didn't hurt it!” he cries out, raising his hands up, palms open as the thing makes to step from the gloom. “It was just a gift-”

The bush near him rustles and a blur of pink and gossamer streaks by his knees, squeaking furiously as it barrels into the treeline. Shiro gasps, and pinches his eyes shut, not wanting his last image to be that of the poor little fairy being rent from its wings.

But there's no shrill shriek of agony, no tiny war cry – just the enraged chittering he's come to associate with the smallest of the forest folk. In fact, when he dares to crack an eye, the shadow has shrunk at least two-thirds of its previous size, arms crossed into something decidedly petulant as the little pink blur circles its head, wapping at it with the flower.

If he wasn't so utterly terrified Shiro might have found it funny, as it is it's all he can do to scramble away from the edge of the treeline, making for the relative familiarity of the willow's underbough. He presses a hand to it out of habit, giving it a ribbon of his essence in gratitude – and in the off chance it might save him from whatever fickle forest spirit he's ran afoul of.

“I didn't mean to hurt anything-” he stutters out, pressing back against the bark and cursing himself when it draws the attention of both spirits toward him, “-I just... I was lost... I mean, thank you, and I... the flower um... I'm sorry?”

The fairy huffs, arms crossing as it turns to the shadow with a scowl. Purple eyes scowl back, wispy lips curling in a sneer that reveals far more gleaming teeth than Shiro would ever like to see again. Of course, the fairy is unimpressed, bonking the spirit on the nose with the flower like one might with a misbehaving house cat.

The reaction is endearingly similar, a sneeze and a shake of wild tendrils, then the spirit is huffing a cold breath and – in a blink – is twisting back into a shape far less menacing. It looks to the fairy with an arched eye, receiving a little nod in return before they turn their attention back to where Shiro has plastered himself to the willow.

The little thing zooms across the field, leaving a trail of sparkling dust in its wake, until it comes to perch on Shiro's palm, grasping his thumb for support as it squeaks up at him.

“I'm sorry,” he shakes his head with a bewildered smile, “I don't understand your language... but thank you.” He pushes another finger tip into bloom, sunny yellow this time, and offers it out to his new friend.

“She said to be more careful.” The rasp comes over the wind, brushing against his ear like it's right beside him, despite being half the clearing away. “You never know what's lurking in these woods.”

Shiro's heart begins to gallop doubletime, and he forces down the urge to run if only for the sake of the little one in his palm.

“I- I will... thank you for bringing me back.”

The thing shrugs, then smiles, bright and toothy.

“Don't mention it.”

It sounds more like a warning than anything, compounded by the way it vanishes into the forest, leaving only the afterimage of that gleaming grin behind.

The fairy in his palm huffs, shaking her head before plucking the little yellow flower from his pinkie with her other hand. Suitably armed, she buzzes up to face level and gives Shiro a gentle pap on the cheeks with her new treasures before flitting back off toward her bush.

Shiro slides down the trunk behind him, heart racing and eyes wide as he peers across the now empty glade. He can hear the babbling of the brook behind him. Above, the sun is just starting to kiss the top of the treeline, indicating the lateness of the afternoon. He'd meant to be heading back to his cottage long before this, but budging an inch from the relative safety of the roots around him feels impossible.

The tree itself disagrees, nudging back at him for the first time, bark growing pricklier under his back.

Shiro gets the message and hauls himself to his feet, brushing off the dirt as he starts his way back toward the sound of water. The mental toll of the day hastens his steps, and he barely stops to fill his flask before he's off again, trotting down familiar paths where the sun still dapples the grass well into the late afternoon. He wants to weep when he sees his familiar little Red, slowing long enough to empty out the rest of his seeds into a little pile and offer a wave before he's slipping through the forest once more.

The feeling of eyes on his back doesn't recede until well after he's broken the treeline, following him through the rolling meadows and grazing pastures scattered around the village. Nearly an hour more of walking goes by before he's stumbling through his own gate and into his little garden, dragging himself through it to throw his arms around his tree in an emotional embrace.

“Thank you for being so not scary,” he chokes out against it, face nuzzling into the scratchy bark without a care, “I'm sorry I left you all day.”

The leaves above him rustle and the sensation of good humor sweeps through him. One of the squirrels in residence scurries down to investigate, digging around the pack with the bread still tucked away.

“Yes, fine, you can finish it.”

He loosens the flap just enough for greedy hands to abscond with the rest of his lunch, chittering happily as they scurry back up the tree to share. Sighing, he watches them go, barely even startling when a branch rustles over his head and sends a peach careening into his lap.

“Thanks.” He pats the root next to him, sending a little burst of magic along. “It's been a long day.”

He tips his head back into the tree and closes his eyes, breathing in the evening air and letting the day's worries bleed from his shoulders. The pixies and bluebird should be long sleeping by now and for that he's grateful. They'd never let him hear the end of it, going on adventures without them and coming back travel-worn and ashen... the pixie that lives in the tulip would probably try to go a pick fight with the forest denizens, nevermind being an inch tall at most.

The crickets begin their nightly chorus as the sun dips lower and lower, casting red and purple hues over the vine-covered walls of Shiro's little cottage. It drags a weary sigh from the very depths of him – certainly time to go inside... he still has lichen to store and could use a wash himself if the crusty patches in his elbows are any indication of the rest of him.

The tree gives him a helpful nudge as he rises and shuffles through his garden to the door of his little home, pushing inside with palpable relief. It's just as he left it – coals banked in the fireplace, mug on the table waiting for tea, basket ready to store the lichen in his pouches... it's so idyllic he could weep. Instead he sets the tea brewing and pulls out his vials, tucking them away in the basket where they'll be cool and dry. His boots come off next, then the rest of his muddy clothing – all into a heap in the washing basin, a problem for tomorrow. The tea is ready by the time he's settling himself in the tub, a marvel of engineering and magic that Shiro doesn't quiet comprehend, but appreciates all the same as it pulls the water from his well outside. Finally he can let himself unwind.

The tea cools faster than the bathwater, a reminder for him to start scrubbing away at the day's grime as he sets the cup aside. It isn't long before the water goes murky around him, glimmering here and there with the sprinkles of fairy dust left on his hand. He can only imagine what his hair looks like at this point – white floof probably murky brown with the water and black sides coated in dust... he huffs a laugh and sinks under, scrubbing with vigor until his scalp stings.

Tomorrow is lunch with the Holts after all, and Colleen isn't keen on letting men with dirty ears eat at her table.

Satisfied with the scrubbed pink of his skin, Shiro hauls himself out of the tub and drips across the floor to his bed, perfectly content to shake out the water like a dog before crawling into his sheets. His eyelids droop as soon as his head hits the pillow, sleep pulling him under in a sweet and much needed embrace.

He's out before the glimmering eyes in his garden blink into nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro wakes to the sun's soft golden rays spilling in through his curtains, bringing with them the cheerful tunes of the bluebird perched politely outside his window, just waiting to be let in. It takes him a moment to blink the sleep from his eyes, head still a little foggy as he watches the dust motes sparkle in the room, back cracking when he stretches in his sheets. Dragging a hand across his eyes, he fumbles with the latch, letting in his early morning friend to flit around, chirping and trilling until she settles on his headboard.

“Good morning, lovely.” He offers out a finger, stroking down her back as she tilts up and twitters back at him. “Catch many worms this morning?”

A reproachful chirp.

Shiro chuckles, standing to stretch his arms, and casts a look down at her.

“Well come on then.”

She flutters up to alight on his shoulder, burbling a stream of chatter as he shuffles downstairs into his little kitchen. He nods and grunts when appropriate as he peers into his pantry, hemming and hawing over the dwindling fare before settling on some pancakes Hunk had sent him home with a few days before. A quick pop onto the rack above last night's banked coals and they're pleasantly warm – perfect to enjoy with a few handfuls of raspberries. The bluebird agrees, hopping from foot to foot as he takes his breakfast outside and into the garden, trilling excitedly when he squats low to pluck some fresh berries for his plate.

“I know, you've been so good leaving them alone,” Shiro agrees with her, offering up a berry that gets snatched away immediately by her little beak. “I don't think I have half the restraint you do.”

Her reply is muffled by her prize, but no less self-satisfied for it, and Shiro has to stifle a snicker as he plods across the garden to settle underneath the willow in the far corner. Of course the chipmunks come to investigate, scurrying down the trunk and rustling by the bluebird who gives them an indignant tweet for their troubles.

“Hello there,” Shiro tips his head to let the chipmunk scramble up and over to his empty shoulder and down the arm, little pinpricks of his nails digging the whole way. “Good morning to you, did you sleep well?”

The chipmunk squeaks at him almost absently, eyes locked on the plate of pancakes.

“Well go on, I've got one for you too.”

The little furry head whips up, starry eyed as it raises paws in thanks. It's too cute – an arrow right through Shiro's heart as he rips the smallest pancake into bite sized pieces for his friend. Only then does he tuck into his own breakfast, groaning as the flavor of the berries bursts over his tongue – just the right balance of sweet and tart, and he can feel how happy the bush is with his tending... he'll have to thank it on the way back inside. In the meantime he's content to sit here and enjoy the early morning sun, the crisp smell of the air, and still-damp grass sparkling with dew. Here in the shaded arms of his willow he almost feels like he's back in the forest, his own little slice of paradise in the midst of the grazing prairies and meadows. The locals tend to gawk when they come out to pick up their medicines, remarking on the wild growth of his garden – the creeping vines that cover the walls of his cottage in blooming flowers and trees sprouting up to bear fruit in far less time than should be possible... but Shiro always shrugs and smiles, wiggling his wooden fingers at them and explaining things just seem to grow for him.

He prefers to bring the deliveries into town to avoid such interactions, always a bit wary when someone looks at his haven with a little too much interest... it wouldn't do to have one of the pixies caught unawares, especially with the temper of the lily-dweller. The last thing Shiro needs is one of the townsfolk coming in for anti-itch medicine and walking out with a stinging hex from an angry garden denizen.

As if called for, the pixies in question creep out from their blooms, stretching tiny arms and yawning the squeakiest of breaths. Shiro can't help cooing at them, wiggling his fingers in greeting and offering up his last raspberries. “Hello dears!”

They blink back at him, still sleepy and crook-winged, all out of sorts as they buzz lazy winding paths to him. Lily sits on the edge of the plate, pulling off a single node of the raspberry in her hands as she kicks her feet where they dangle above Shiro's lap.

“Up to snuff today?”

She nods, mouth full, and gives her stomach a little pat before tearing off another and offering it to her friend from the daffodils. Shiro beams down at her, she must be in an unusually good mood this morning to be sharing so readily... or maybe his little garden is just becoming a real family at last.

“I'm going into town today,” he speaks into the open air, drawing eyes of all sorts toward him. “It's lunch day with the Holts, so I'll be picking up a few things from town when I make my deliveries... do we have any requests?”

The garden bursts into chittering, chattering, squeaking, and tweets – all his favorite critters clamoring for his attention to their petitions.

“Slow down!” Shiro laughs, snatching a twig off the ground to scratch a makeshift list into the dirt, “Okay, seeds... sugar water... I don't know if the cherries are in season but I'll check... more seeds...” He squints down at the list, then back up to his friends with a shrug. “Anything else?”

Lily wrinkles her delicate nose, flicking her wings until she's standing on his plate and pinching the bottom of her dress between two fingers.

“Would you like more flower petals?” Shiro guesses, stick poised and ready above the list, “Or maybe I can see about some scraps of silk or something else?”

Her eyes light up at the mention of silk, wings beating like a hummingbird as she claps her hands and flits over to her friend, tugging on her skirt as well.

“Gotcha,” Shiro nods, tongue clamped between his teeth as he scratches another line into the dirt. “A bunch of light cloth in different colors.”

Tiny heads bobble in affirmative, beaming at him as he sets the stick down and eases up to standing.

“Okay everyone, I'll do my best.” He offers his compatriots a wonky salute, receiving one in return from all but the bluebird – though she tries her best, and the squirrels nearly knock themselves off the branch with the force of theirs. “I should be back by early evening.”

Plans set, he ambles back into his cottage to prepare for his outing, giving the raspberry bush a pat on the way. He can thank his past self for the neatly labeled packages tucked into the shelves by the door – each parcel tied with a bit of string and the name of the recipient in his own loopy script. All he really needs to do is pack the peach jam he's promised Hunk and find himself some sort of sensible attire that is passably clean for Colleen's inspection. The tunic and trousers from yesterday are out, both splattered with mud and probably tinged with the smell of fear sweat. He hasn't managed to get to his washing for quite a few days with the onset of spring – too busy with deliveries and foraging trips to tend to his growing pile of smelly clothing. Unfortunately, that means he's left with the lesser worn stuff – soft-spun pants that are just a shade too small and a pretty white tunic that's embroidered with flowers that Shiro is loathe to wear any time there's food involved... and there's always food involved. He sighs as he slips it over his head, resigned to scrub stains out of it by the end of the day. Still, he muses as he pulls on his boots and loads up everything into a neat basket, at least Colleen will see that he's put effort into their get-together.

The walk into town is as uneventful as ever, he's flanked by the usual feathered friends that come to see him on the tree-lined footpath that links him to the main settlement. The pockets full of seeds probably help his cause, drawing them in as he sprinkles little morsels here and there for the shy critters to scoop up in his wake. He hopes that eventually they'll get to know each other like old friends, but nature takes its own sweet time, and even the greenest of witches can only hurry it so much.

Shiro finds himself like nature in that way, strolling down the path and admiring the rolling hills surrounding him as he goes. The forest is at his back, a green and inviting wall as far as the eye can see, rising high into a mountain at the very farthest edge of his view. Today would be another perfect day to go foraging... but he has deliveries to make and commitments to keep, and even the most reclusive of hermits should probably talk to a human every now and then.

The town comes into view over the crest of a hill, nestled as it is beside the winding river that powers the mill – the product of the woodland brook and other tributaries meeting in the fertile plains. It's a cute little town, all swept streets and flower boxes in windows – and a smart place to settle, though it's been hardly two generations since the first cottages started to spring up. The townsfolk are honest enough, if a little superstitious... they still request all types of talismans to ward against this or that – things Shiro is happy to provide, even if he's a bit skeptical of their reasoning. Apparently there had been an ancient city of sorts here once before, one that suddenly and violently met its end with few survivors to speak of what had happened... not that Shiro believes in such nonsense. There's not much to base the old legends on, hardly a crumbling ruin save for the mossy stones where an old temple must have lain - chances are the flood plain finally got the once in a lifetime deluge that drowned the city wholesale.

Either way, it makes them feel better to have trinkets to keep their anxieties at bay, so Shiro will carve and bless them with what little ability he has... and maybe offer a sleeping draught or two for those who seem extra preoccupied with unlikely misfortunes. Today's first stop is one such visit, a calming draught for a seamstress who tends to fret herself sick taking on too many orders. Shiro can certainly sympathize, he's taken on more than he can handle a time or two himself, working through the candlelit night to get everything finished on time... not that anyone would mind too terribly in a village like this if something were to be a day or two delayed, but it's the principle of the thing.

He strides up to her cottage, a squat yellow building with bright green shutters and a large wooden spool danging from her awning. The flowers in her box perk at his approach and he offers them a quick stroke of their petals as he knocks on the door. There's a pitter-patter of steps before the little wooden door creaks open, revealing the bustling woman inside.

“Oh hello dear!” She crows up at him, face sunny as she reaches out to give him a pat on the arm. “You're a day earlier than I expected – so industrious!”

“I had a little time,” Shiro replies, fishing around in his basket until he finds the parcel with her name on it. “And I know the moths enjoy your embroidery as much as I do, Ms. Griffin.”

She barks a laugh at that, nodding along as she plucks at his flowery sleeve. “True enough, but you certainly wear my work better than they do.”

Shiro can't help his blush, at a loss for words and choosing to thrust the package over to her instead.

“Well, there's the charmed bauble to keep them away, just hang it near where you have the most trouble with them, and a little bit of your usual draught in there as well.”

“You're a lifesaver.” She pats his arm once more before slipping a coin purse out of her sleeve and dropping it into his basket. “And don't think I haven't realized why my violets are doing so well this season.”

Shiro flicks the flower box a glance, huffing a laugh when he realizes they're all still craning toward him. “You caught me... but that's more for my own interest, I swear.”

“I'm sure.” She shakes her head with a chuckle, casting him a fond look. “Well, as much as I'd love to invite you in and try to convince you to marry my boy so I can keep you around forever... I bet you've got more deliveries to make.”

“Yes ma'am, I do.” He scrubs a sheepish hand through the back of his hair, bright red to the tips of his ears as she makes her usual proposition on James's behalf. “Not that he isn't wonderful.”

“Oh you!” She cackles, pulling out a handkerchief to flap at him as she steps back inside. “I'm only teasing, don't let an old lady hold you up.”

“I enjoy every minute of your company,” Shiro assures her with a grin, stepping back onto the main street as she closes the door with a snort.

He's always liked starting his deliveries with her and her wit as sharp as her needles – it sets the tone for the rest of his morning as he ambles off down the street, a playful tune on his lips to match the robins in the scattered trees. Mr. Iverson gets a draught for his achy joints on his next stop, popping the cork and downing the mixture as soon as he gets his hands on it.

“I swear, kiddo,” he sighs out, dancing a half bit of a jig on his doorstep with a crinkled smile, “You make an old man feel about twenty years younger.”

He too drops a coin purse in Shiro's basket, along with a little whittled sheep – the old man's hobby these days – and waves him down the road. Shiro plucks the sheep out of the basket as soon as the door shuts, admiring the craftsmanship with a smile... it's even got a tiny sheep smile and a floofy little forelock on its head. He loves it dearly and can already see where it's going to live on his mantle next to last week's carved fawn and the cow from the week before. At first he'd insisted that Iverson shouldn't give away his keepsakes for free, but the man had laughed in his face and wiggled his fingers, retorting that Shiro's mixture is what keeps his fingers working in the first place.

He's since learned to graciously accept the gifts from the townsfolk, knowing it's a battle he can't win. Which is why he ends up with a little bottle of wine from the McClain vineyards after he drops off the matriarch's requested charms to help with luck in love for her son – though they'd shared a good chuckle over whether even Shiro has enough magic to help with that case. Shortly thereafter a shiny brass buckle cleverly hammered into the shape of a leaf is slipped in alongside the rest. That one Shiro never balks at, knowing that the tinsmith can't afford his crafting dyes or the draughts he needs to ease the breathing of his young daughter... but Shiro brings them anyway regardless of the coin, and he knows pride is a funny thing. Next time he'll be sure to wear the buckle into town and show it off.

By the time he gets to the market his basket is as laden as it was when he first stepped into town, despite having dropped off all his deliveries except those for the Holts. He's already mentally whipping up something for the ache that's sure to set in from lugging it all home and day dreaming about getting a horse that he doesn't strictly need.

“Good morning, Shiro,” James calls across the stands of produce and other assorted goods, offering him an easy smile and a wave, “Has my mother convinced you we're to be married yet?”

Shiro barks out a laugh, snatching up a few plums for his basket as he grins over at the grocer.

“She certainly made a convincing argument.” He wiggles a fruit in his wooden hand and lets it bloom. “Free fruit for life, and a strapping young lad... all I need to do is tend to her violets.”

“And you turned that down?” James shakes his head, still grinning as he begins to dump Shiro's usual order of seeds into little pouches for safekeeping. “I don't even get the free fruit...”

“Guess you'll need to get on her good side,” Shiro teases, plucking up the seeds before turning toward the vegetables. “Speaking of... have you mentioned to her of your... interest?”

His friend goes violently red, ears steaming as he scrubs a hand down his face.

“Not yet... I haven't quite managed to ah... well... tell the party of interest.”

Shiro drops a cucumber into his basket with a click of his tongue, turning to level his best disappointed look at the young man. “You know he'd agreed to go along with you, and a smithy is honest work.”

“I knooow,” James groans, dragging a hand down his face and slumping onto the little counter. “But he's very handsome, and when I tried last I ended up buying horseshoes.”

Shiro blinks down at him, struggling to contain the open mirth on his face as he hauls up a sack of sugar. “You bought a horse?”

James tips his chin up enough to throw him a withering look, thumping his head back down when Shiro breaks and begins to laugh.

“It's not that bad.” Shiro claps him on the back, still snickering as he pulls out his purchases. “They're lucky you know... maybe if you hang them around they'll give you the courage to finally ask him.” He fishes out a few coins from his basket as James props himself up with a sigh. The grocer casts an idle glance at the heap of food before giving him a number that's far too low, prompting a roll of Shiro's eyes. “I'll tell you what... if you swear to ask Ryan within the fortnight I'll give your horseshoes all a quick charm.”

He plants the stack of coins down on the counter with a raised eyebrow, challenging his friend to comment on the additional funds.

“Fine,” James sighs, long suffering as he scoops the coins into the basket beneath him. “But if it goes poorly you'll have to put me out of my misery... there's got to be some nightshade around here.”

Shiro snorts and loads his bounty back into the basket before offering out a hand to shake. “Deal.”

He adds clover to his mental tally for the next forage, knowing James will take all the luck he can get – though he certainly doesn't need it judging by the way their smithy insists on sharpening up the grocer's knives each week. The thought of blossoming love buoys him against the leaden basket, practically trotting to the Holt's quirky sprawl of a home. As expected, there's something smoking out back – a blue-green puff smudging the sky that's accompanied by raucous clanging and a hoot of laughter. The familiar chaos brings a smile to his face as he bumps the front gate open with his hip, stooping to brush his fingertips against the climbing roses in greeting before breezing through the door without knocking.

“Good afternoon, Holts!” he calls into the entry way, toeing off his dusty boots as Colleen pops her head out from the kitchen. “Your favorite child has arrived.”

“He has!” Colleen claps her flour-covered hands, puffing a little cloud and ushering Shiro into the kitchen to deposit his basket. “And he's brought some fresh herbs I see.”

“Only the best for you.” Shiro leans over to drop a kiss on the top of her head, offering up the rosemary, sage, and basil fresh from his own garden. “I picked them this morning.”

“They smell divine.” She beams up at him, scooping them up to do mysterious kitchen things. “Lunch won't be ready for another few minutes, but the kids are playing with a new contraption out back.” Her eyes cut down to his shirt with a grimace. “But maybe keep your distance with your spiffy clothing.”

“Yes ma'am,” Shiro promises, holding out his pinkie to her like he used to as a child. “I'll do my best to keep it white until lunch gets me.”

Colleen sighs, wrapping his finger with her own slim knuckle, and shakes her head. “Well, at least your ears are clean.”

He preens, folding one ear down with a finger and nodding before getting shooed out of the kitchen – a necessary precaution for both of them given his history of trying to help. Following the sound of clanking lands him in the workshop out back where he finds the other three Holts and one weary looking Hunk standing around something that might be a mechanical... death machine?

“Dare I ask what you've made this time?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the metal monstrosity, gaze lingering on the sharpened teeth lining two lower arms. “It's not going to turn on anytime soon is it?”

“I hope not,” Hunk grunts, patting Pidge's thigh from where she's made a perch on his shoulders – screwdriver clamped between her teeth as she fiddles with something on the top of the monstrosity. “Right now I think it's probably possessed at best.”

“Rude, but plausible.” Matt pushes soot covered goggles up onto his head with a roguish grin, eyebrows wiggling as he throws out his hands. “Behold – the reap-master 1000!”

Shiro squints at the pile of pointy bits and wonky angles before turning to a sheepish Sam. “What's this thing supposed to do?”

“Hey!”

“Well, it's farm equipment of a sort,” Sam cuts across his son's squawked protest, smiling fondly at his motley crew. “If we can get it to run on steam power then it should be able to clear a wheat field in half the time as a normal worker... we could store more grain for the upcoming winter.”

“Huh.” Shiro squints at the thing again, trying to visualize what part of it beyond the giant serrated teeth has anything to do with agriculture. “Are you sure it's not going to reap people?”

“That's what I said,” Hunk chimes in, unperturbed when it earns him a flick to the ear from his passenger, “if this thing was enchanted we'd call it a demon, right?”

“Or something,” Shiro agrees faintly, squinting at Matt and Pidge's identical pouts. “Not that I'm not certain you'll get it in totally benevolent working order in no time.”

“No time like the present, eh?” Matt slides over to nudge him with an elbow. “You wanna take this bad boy out to your meadow and see what it can do to the tall grass?”

“Not particularly?” Shiro lifts his arm to wiggle blooming fingers in Matt's face. “I tend to like my nature.”

“Oh... right.” His friend grimaces, sheepish as he scrubs through his bangs, smearing oil into them for sure. “Forgot about that.”

“Mom's not gonna let you come to lunch like that,” Pidge teases, kicking her heels against Hunk's chest. “Looks like bath number two for Matty-cakes.”

Matt cringes, then scowls at his little sister, wiping his hands down the thighs of his trousers. “Maybe if you keep your trap shut she won't notice.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam chuckles, shaking his head as he rubs his own hands on a rag and heads toward the house. “Come on Shiro, she's probably ready by now... Hunk you can come too.”

Hunk pumps his fist and grips Pidge by the waist, hauling her off his shoulders and setting her on the ground, ignoring her indignant squawk.

“Traitor!” She jabs a greasy hand into his side with a pout before shuffling over to her equally filthy brother. “You're supposed to take my side, it's in our vows!”

“Sorry Pidge,” Hunk shrugs, apologetic but not giving up the opportunity to enjoy his mother in law's cooking. “I'm not the one who wanted to be elbow deep in mechanical guts today.”

“You were so,” she huffs, but it's a weak protest muffled by the rag in her teeth as she makes to scrub down her arms. “your arms just didn't fit inside.”

“Be that as it may,” he sniffs, linking his arm with Shiro and tilting his chin high, “some of us have retained our civility and will be joining Colleen for lunch.”

The siblings' sputters follow them inside as Hunk, Shiro, and Sam giggle their way into the kitchen where Colleen is pulling a pot of stew off the stove.

“Perfect timing.” She beams at them, gesturing to the stack of plates and bowls on the counter. “Set the table please?”

The boys hop to it, distributing the silverware and cups as well while Sam putters in with fresh flowers for the middle of the table and a pitcher of wine. It's picture perfect by the time Colleen hauls in the pot of stew and the loaves of bread Hunk had brought along with a fresh crock of butter.

“It's beautiful, thank you boys.” She plants a kiss on three cheeks before shuffling out to holler for her other two rascals, hands on her hips as she wields her mom voice to full effect.

Pidge and Matt come traipsing in a moment later, jostling each other through the door and looking like they've been scrubbed pink from fingertips to elbows and across their cheeks. Hunk does an admirable job of stifling his laughter as he pulls a chair out for his tiny wife, but Shiro doesn't even bother trying not to snicker at Matt's haystack hair and damp clothing.

“It's okay Matt,” he coos, patting the chair beside him. “You can sit next to me and I'll make sure you don't make more of a mess on yourself.”

“That's an awfully pretty white shirt you've got there Shiro,” Matt quips back, settling in and elbowing his best friend as he reaches for the pitcher of wine, “it would be a shame if something were to spill all over it.”

“None of that now,” Colleen cuts across her squabbling rabble, doling out ladles of stew as Sam slices thick portions of bread. “I get one nice meal a week with everyone behaving, right?”

“Yes mom...”

It's a dutiful chorus that doesn't stop them from nudging each other under the table.

The meal is amazing as usual, made with all the love the Holt matriarch can pour into it. Wine starts flowing freely around the second helping, leaving Shiro to be extra vigilant lest his nice shirt end up spattered by the end of the day. Colleen merely regards him with fond exasperation, offering up two large handkerchiefs to tuck into his collar and cover his lap, leaving him free to enjoy the good company.

“So Shiro,” Sam says as he pushes back from the table, hands crossed over his belly, “I hear you've had some good luck in the forest lately.”

Swallowing a mouthful of wine, Shiro nods, gesturing wildly as he explains about his new discovery of an abundant source of lichen and clover – not to mention the rarer ingredients that he has tucked away just in case, like the moondrops he'd literally tripped over a few weeks back. The rest of them ooh and aah appropriately, ever supportive of his endeavor to become the local herbalist and healer even when most people thought he should have given up after the accident that took his arm. He appreciates every ounce of support – even the pernicious questions from Matt.

“Have you seen anything strange in there lately?” he asks, lanky body reclined but eyes sharp as ever, “A few of the trappers mentioned it's been more active lately.”

Shiro freezes mid sip, cutting a glance over to Matt and thinking about violet eyes.

_Don't mention it._

“Aah, not really?” He knows the words come out more like a question as soon as he speaks them, and watches Matt's eyebrow crook up immediately. “I mean... the animals have been friendly enough to me, and I saw a funny bird I suppose.”

“What kind of bird?” Pidge asks, adjusting her glasses as she squints at Shiro and his terrible poker face. “Like a jay, or a raven?”

Shiro makes a noise of dissent, face twisting as he tries to recall beyond the coaxing melody.

“I think it was purple and blue... a really brightly colored thing.” He huffs a laugh and scrubs a hand through his hair, casting a sheepish glance at Colleen. “You would have loved its song though, I nearly followed it into the deep woods.”

Her lips purse, head tilted at him. “Blue and purple... about how big was it?”

“I dunno?” He shrugs, holding his hands about a foot apart. “Maybe this big or so? It was hard to tell, a quick little bugger... vanished on me.”

“Huh.” Hunk grunts out across the table, squinting at him with a similar look. “I think you might've found a galra.”

“A what?” Shiro blinks at them, not exactly fond of the twin looks of consternation.

“Well, maybe.” Colleen hedges, reaching out to pat his hand. “There's an old folk tale around here about the galra bird... supposedly they're brightly colored and their song is nearly irresistible.”

“And they lure people into fae traps,” Hunk adds helpfully, gesturing in a circle with his spoon. “you know, like the circles and all that jazz.”

“You mean all that garbage,” Matt scoffs, crossing his arms and tipping his chair back with a roll of his eyes. “Next you'll be telling me that Shiro's cavorting around with the fair folk when he's off flower picking.”

“Haaaaa!” Shiro laughs just a bit too loudly, clapping his hand on the table hard enough to jostle his wine and send him scrambling to keep it from sloshing over, a manic smile on his face all the while. “Matt, you are so funny.”

Five sets of eyebrows set to quirking at him.

“Shiro...” Pidge starts, pulling her glasses down to polish on her collar. “You seem a bit... unsettled.”

“Unsettled? Me?” He giggles, reaching out to take a long pull of his cup. “No. I'm settled, my cottage is actually coming along quite nicely – you should see my garden, I brought your mother some nice fresh herbs today, she can tell you all about them I'm sure... in fact, why don't you? I'm sure we'd all love to hear what you're planning on doing with those herbs, I know I for one am dying to know-”

“Okay Shiro,” Colleen laughs, settling a hand on his forearm and putting him out of his misery. “We don't have to talk about it... but I am going to be whipping up something quite nice for next week with those.” She turns to her son in law with a mischievous smile. “Especially if Hunk here is willing to lend me the recipe for his famous herb bread.”

“Oh heavens,” Hunk sighs, shifting in his seat and dragging a hand across his forehead. “My grandmother is going to be rolling in her grave if it goes out of the family... but okay.”

“We're family now anyway.” Pidge elbows him gently, mock pout on her face as she points to the leather cuff on her wrist that she wears as a wedding band, “I'm pretty sure you owe me that recipe.”

The conversation devolves into planning for next week from there, leaving Shiro to sip his wine from a shaking cup, studiously avoiding Matt's keen gaze. He's not sure what exactly those violet eyes are capable of, but he certainly doesn't want to upset them and find out.

“Do you have any silk scraps?” he blurts out, then flushes to his ears, a little deeper into his cups than he'd realized as Colleen cocks an eyebrow at him. “I um... I promised a... friend... that I would get some for them.”

“Sure Shiro...” She smiles at him, an enigmatic thing as she pushes back from the table. “About how large?”

“Oh, um...” He holds his forefinger and thumb apart a few inches and shrugs. “Maybe this much in a square? A few colors if you can spare them, and lighter materials, or... I can go ask Ms. Griffin too.”

“It's fine dear.” She waves away his concern and bustles into their sprawling assorted storage areas, coming back with some bits of bright floaty fabrics – some with sparkles, some gauzy, one with a line of ruffles, and others with tiny flowers embroidered on the edge. “Will these do?”

“They're perfect.” Shiro beams at her, carefully tucking the little bundle in his pocket and offering her back the handkerchiefs in trade. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She ruffles his hair with twinkling eyes and the grin her children inherited. “If you need any more for your... friends... feel free to let me know.”

Matt snorts next to him, shaking his head as he mutters under his breath and makes to stand.

“Well Shiro, it was good to see you, even if you've abandoned me to live out in the middle of nowhere.”

Shiro stands as well, reaching out to wrap Matt in a hug and only stuffing his friend's face in his armpit just a little bit. “It's always a pleasure Matt... you're welcome to come around sometime, but... maybe without the death bot.”

“Killjoy.” Matt teases, reaching up to flick Shiro's ear like he's done since they were squabbling children.

“Menace.” Shiro retorts.

“Pidge.” The gremlin herself declares, shoving between the two of them to wrap her spindly arms around Shiro's middle. “Don't be a stranger, you old hermit.”

Hunk comes up behind her, squashing her flat between them as he bear hugs Shiro himself. “I'm going to be making pie this week if you come sooner.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” Shiro grunts back as the air slowly leaves his lungs. “Your jam is on the counter.”

Pidge gurgles between them.

“Alright boys,” Sam chuckles, prying them apart to rescue his youngest. “The sun's getting lower, kiddo.” He pulls Shiro in for a hug of his own. “You'd best be getting back if you want to have your afternoon light.”

“True enough,” Shiro agrees, clapping him on the back. “My basket is heavy today too, it'll be slow going.”

“Oh please,” Colleen laughs, tugging him into her arms and making him a bit dizzy with all the passing around, “Look at these muscles.” She gives him a pat on the arm, smile proud like only a mother's can be. “I bet you could carry four of those baskets without even breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah, pack mule Shiro over here...” Pidge snickers from somewhere around his knees.

“I'll stick with one,” he laughs into Colleen's hair before pulling back to flick Pidge in the forehead. “but if you need anything hauled I suppose I could be bothered.”

“You're a good boy.” She pats his cheeks and then brushes his sleeves down. “And you didn't even spill.”

“A miracle.”

“Hush, Matthew.”

“Alright, let the boy get on with his day.” Sam laughs, prying his wife away from Shiro as he needs to every time. “He's got to get back to his friends and his garden.”

“I do,” Shiro admits, smiling gently at his family as he collects his basket from the table, “but it was wonderful to see you all, and I'll be back sooner than later with the end of month orders I'll be filling.”

“Well, don't forget to come see us then.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Shiro promises, hand to his heart as he makes his way to their front door. “I'll be back before you know it – with more presents of course.”

He bids farewell to the climbing roses as well, giving their petals a gentle stroke before stepping through the gate and beginning his stroll down the road toward home. The sun is just beginning to cast middling shadows and the birds' chattering is more subdued, lending the afternoon a peaceful cloak. There's a squirrel napping in one of the low hanging branches, belly up to the sky and arm dangling toward the grass as Shiro ambles beneath him. It's the kind of afternoon that makes him want to curl up in his garden and nap... but he still has goods from the market to put away and gifts to distribute. Soon enough his cottage comes into view, garden full of peering eyes and excited chatter as he pushes the gate open.

“Hello dears, I'm home!”

The garden bursts into a flurry around him, swarming him with peeped questions and tiny hands, and the statement feels truer than ever. He sets the basket down, careful not to squash anyone, and begins pulling out gifts.

“A few packets of seeds for you all... share please!” He rummages deeper and pulls out a bag of cherries with shrug. “I'm not sure how good these will be, but feel free to plant the pits when you're done and we'll make our own soon.”

They squeak their thanks and scurry off, parading around their new treasures as the pixies flit out to look expectantly in the basket, wings drooping at the sight of cucumbers and other assorted goods.

“Don't worry little ones,” Shiro soothes, pulling the bundle out of his pocket. “I found something special for you too.”

He huffs a laugh as they streak into the bundle with tinkling giggles, fists full of fabric that they wrap around themselves like robes. They have surprising strength in their little limbs, gathering up every last scrap as they float away, looking for all the world like sentient scarves haunting his garden.

“And don't worry, I didn't forget about you.” He turns to the hummingbird and bees zipping around his shoulder. “I'll mix up that sugar and have it out in no time.”

They buzz in happy circles, content to stay outside as he brings in his basket and gets to mixing, returning shortly when he pours their treat into the glass bauble that hangs from the trellis. All in all it's been a successful excursion, each garden resident content and a full belly for himself. He finds himself smiling out over his little plot, drinking in the slice of peace before wandering back inside to prepare for the next few days.

Tomorrow he'll have to go into the woods again at dawn to forage for the supplies needed for his monthly deliveries and the idea sends a shiver of excitement down his spine. For now he sets himself to the night's work; putting away supplies, washing his clothing, and checking his inventory.

If he hurries through his tasks to make the daybreak come a little faster, well... that's a secret between him and the garden.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro doesn't _rush_ through his morning tasks... that would imply that he has some goal in mind today that he's trying to get to... and he doesn't.

He just... would like to be on the road early today. For no particular reason. It takes an awfully long time to get to the forest after all, and there's only so much daylight afforded to him to complete all his foraging. It's not like he's hurrying for any _particular_ reason.

The denizens of his garden squint blearily at him as he tries to sneak past them without disturbing anyone's rest, clearly suspicious of his not at all nicer than usual traveling clothes donned before the sun has even crested the horizon.

But it's not like he's wearing them for anyone special... they were just conveniently clean. Because he had cleaned them... for no reason in particular.

He's just eager to get his supplies, and it's not like anyone can argue that they're not comfortable clothing. They just happen to fit him very well, and be a nice shade of green that Colleen says he looks handsome in... a shade that will help him blend into the forest, of course. It's just practicality.

Yes. He's just heading into the forest like he always does to do the things he needs to do, that's all.

And if his pace is a little more brisk than usual, well it's simply because he's excited to get there before the day gets too hot. After all, it's not like there's anything he's looking forward to in there.

Or anyone.

He bites his lip in anticipate as he trots along the path, mentally running through the various herbs he'll need to acquire for his monthly orders. It's not too much to carry back with him this time... the clover for James, some witch's wort, a handful or two of yarrow... maybe some white sage and whatever else he might stumble upon. Really it'll be a light trip so soon after yesterday's deliveries – he should be back home well before supper if all goes well.

And there's no reason that it wouldn't all go well, because he's certainly not planning to take any side trips, oh no. He's just going to go in, gather up his things, say a quick hello to Red... maybe take a small pit stop by the glade, just to see if those moonberries are still there of course.

He stays on course admirably... for about ten steps into the forest.

Red comes streaking out of the nearest tree, chittering animatedly as he scurries up Shiro's pant leg and plants himself on his shoulder, tiny hands papping at his cheeks in a manner _far_ more familiar than he has been in the past.

“Woah there!” Shiro nearly balks in surprise, jerking to the side as Red clings and keeps chattering so fast Shiro can barely keep up. “Wait, wait – slow down!”

The little squirrel sighs, comically put-upon as he repeats each squeak with torturous delay.

Shiro's eyebrows raise to hairline as he listens, “Who's been up to what now?”

More chirp-grunting, accompanied by a tiny flail and a flick of the tail.

“The purple-eyed guardian?” Shiro wonders aloud with a prickling feeling that maybe he's caused more of a stir in these woods than he thought. “I think I met it, yes... but-”

And explosion of chitters, beady eyes wide as tiny claws prick into where they hold Shiro's nose.

“ _Oh._ ” Shiro swallows hard, peering around the woods for any sign of unwelcome. “I didn't realize it was so... uh... important?”

The squirrel grunts again, rolling it's eyes with a decidedly patronizing huff.

“Hey, how am I supposed to know?” Shiro defends himself, continuing his stroll with a resigned sigh of his own. “It helped me back out, didn't it? I can probably keep picking flowers if it hasn't eaten me yet.”

“Yet being the operative word.” The now-familiar rasp sends a bolt of shivers through Shiro's body, only heightened by the way Red dives through his collar and down the back of his shirt. “I haven't quite decided what to do with you.”

“ _Eep-_ ”

Shiro isn't sure if the sound comes from him or Red, but the little squirrel has arranged himself enough to peek just over his shoulder, tail tickling Shiro's shoulder blades. Or maybe Shiro's the one trembling hard enough to be brushing against the tail himself. He can't see the owner of the voice – who is apparently much more than the scary-but-probably-run-of-the-mill wood nymph Shiro had assumed it was... but judging by the icy tendrils prickling the back of his neck it can't be too far away.

“I um... I was just chatting with my friend here, uh... Guardian?” Shiro stutters out, slowly turning a circle to find nothing amiss around him. “I'm only here for plants, and I've never hurt anyone-”

“Oh, I know.” The voice carries a mocking lilt to it, like it's laughing at Shiro's attempts to explain himself. “If you had, you'd have fared worse than your lumberjack friends.”

“They're not my friends really,” Shiro protests, eager to put distance between himself and those poor addled fools. “My cottage wasn't made from this forest even-”

“I know that too.” A smile blooms out of nowhere, hanging in mid-air above a low tree branch and startling Shiro into jumping back. “Your wards are impressive for a human... though they don't have much in the way of teeth to them.”

“They're not for...” Shiro trails off, blanching at the implication. “Wait- you... you've seen my... you can leave?”

“Of course I can leave.” The smile huffs, materializing a body with a particularly patronizing look around it. “Only the little ones can't make the journey, and only for lack of shade and water.” It rolls its eyes, shadowy vine lashers flicking in agitation as it shakes its head. “Humans... still just as ignorant as they were last century.”

Red lets out a nervous titter of agreement, though he does reach up to grasp Shiro's earlobe in silent solidarity. Shiro can't find it in himself to be offended at either of them, not after seeing the utter nonsense the villagers have gotten themselves up to in the past.

“Ignorant enough to be harmless?” he tries instead, aiming his most pleading smile at the sinewy shape shifting before him.

“Enough to be interesting.” The creature slides down from the tree – a pooling of shadow more than anything else – and stalks toward Shiro, circling him as the terrified plant witch does his best to stay rooted. “Tell me, human... what do you do with your plants anyway?”

“I uh... I'm an herbalist of sorts? I mean...” Shiro stammers, lifting his hands to wring them together as a cold sweat dampens his brow. “I make good luck charms, and healing draughts, and um... sometimes I make dyes for the tradesmen? Just small things.”

“Small things...” It scoffs with a flick of its clawed fingers. “I know full well what it takes to make those 'small things' for one of your kind... and how much it takes to power that arm of yours.”

Shiro shakes his head, chancing a step back as it advances on him. “I swear, I don't know what you're talking about... my arm just works, my friend made it for me, I- I don't even really know how, it's just magic wood-”

“Just magic wood.” The words are definitely mocking now as the lithe thing slips around him, purple eyes glowing hot. “Just heartwood from this forest you mean... carved from the depths of the Lifeglen itself.”

“It's... what?” Shiro shakes his head, raising his hands in supplication. “No, I don't... I don't know anything about a lifeglen... my friend found the wood somewhere and made it for me, I swear. It was a gift after my accident-”

“A cute fairy tale,” the rasping voice croons as its owner reaches out a hand. “We'll see soon enough.”

Shiro doesn't even have time to flinch back before the inky claws curl around his wrist, sending a surge of crackling energy straight up his arm.

“Ah!”

He tries to yank his arm back to no avail, trapped entirely by the iron grip. Cold fear slips down his spine as the thing's eyes narrow – he's got no chance against it... and he's a fool for thinking himself safe to return. He closes his eyes and relaxes in its hold, hoping that Red will at least have the sense to get away... but there's a prickling heat crawling back down his arm, distracting him from his imminent demise. Tendrils of golden light race down from his shoulder, blooming bursts of flowers and moss in their wake as they streak toward the hand trapping him – then gold meets shadowy purple and crackles as if in sharp rebuke before bursting from his fingertips in a brilliant flare.

The hand yanks back from him with a bitten curse as the creature staggers back.

“I'm sorry!” Shiro snatches his arm back to himself, cradling it to his chest even as it continues to bloom, not minding the triumphant chittering in his ear as Red scolds the creature. “I don't know how I did that-”

“You didn't.” It growls back, almost pouting as its murky figure slumps. “The heartwood... chooses.” The words are grudging, almost spat upon the ground. “The arm is yours... and you're the forest's now.”

Shiro sucks in a breath and holds it, blowing out his cheeks as he squints at his would-be captor. “I don't know what that means,” he admits.

“Of course you don't... it means you're welcome here,” it grunts back, clearly displeased with the outcome. “Though I didn't expect to see you again after the last time.”

“If this experience had been the first time you'd be right,” Shiro squeaks back with a nervous titter, raising a hand to give Red a calming scritch where he's still huffing and puffing, tiny body shaking with adrenaline. “You make quite the impression... but I still need to get my plants, so...”

It shakes its head in exasperation, throwing its hands into the air as the vine lashers sway like vipers around it. “Fine! I can't stop you, clearly...” Purple eyes narrow, drawing a chill around them as one finger points at Shiro like a dart. “But if you so much as think about mucking up my woods not even that arm of yours will save you from your fate.”

“Yes sir, er... ma'am? Woods demon?” Shiro stumbles over his words as he snaps a shaky salute with the arm that just saved his hide. “Only plants, I swear.”

It nods, molten eyes still squinting, but pauses mid-turn as it makes to melt back into the forest.

“Since you've chosen to carry on with your foolish endeavor... you may call me Keith.”

And then it's gone in a gust of leaves and chilling wind, leaving Shiro with his furry companion and thankfully unsoiled breaches.

“Well,” he breathes out, turning to meet Red's equally wide-eyed stare, “I guess we better get our plants and get the hell out of here then.”

Red squeaks his faint agreement and scrabbles down to Shiro's pack, digging around for some much needed comfort seeds.

For once, Shiro doesn't feel the need to remind him to share as he plops down against the nearest tree and grabs his own loaf of honeybread. It's not yet mid-morning and they've already had a full day's worth of stress.

He thinks with the faintest sense of relief that, although the villagers may have been correct about the forest, at least his trips probably can't get any stranger from here...


End file.
